Sunday, October 30, 2016

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Cities are getting better at offering transport choices to people. After decades in which the car pushed other forms of transport aside, except in very major or capital cities, the gridlock that their success achieved has led to planners and citizens providing and demanding alternatives. Seville, from what I have, is making good progress in this area.Cycle paths are at the edge of many major roads, a self-service bike-sharing cycle scheme is in operation and well used. Moreover, trams have made an appearance in recent years. Buses are plentiful and inexpensive. Motor scooters are widely used and the car is common, though the old part of the city isn't suitable for them - too many narrow roads with sharp turns. Interestingly a wide variety of Segways, hoverboards, electric scooters and roller blades can be seen, not surprising, I suppose, in a flat city.

Friday, October 28, 2016

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The five-day weather forecast for my part of the world, for the past few days, has been cloud, cloud and more cloud. And, every day thus far, we have experienced several sunny spells each day that have broken through the cloud cover. I'm considering becoming a weather forecaster - I would be just as good at getting the forecast wrong as the current crop of people.

Sun broke through again very briefly on an early morning visit to Boston, Lincolnshire, and prompted this photograph. When I was starting out in photography many decades ago I had a handy little Kodak booklet of hints and tips for taking better photographs. One suggestion was that the photographer should not take shots with the sun behind them. If the photograph included people it would cause them to squint at the camera, and the floodlight effect of the sun at this position would make the subject appear flat because of the absence of shadows to model it. This isn't bad advice, but like all such rules they are made to be broken knowingly.

What prompted this shot was the yellow tint that the low light gave to the subject of the church of St Botolph. The other was the way the sliver of deep shadow of the buttresses made it look like a flash gun was throwing a shadow onto the background of clouds. And the other was that this is a different kind of record shot of a subject I've photographed many times before. Incidentally, I wouldn't choose to shoot this subject with the lens open at f1.8 but I could see the shadow of the clouds slipping across the market place and I simply didn't have time to change the setting.

Tuesday, October 25, 2016

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The Real Alcazar is the royal palace in Seville. It was founded and extended during the period (c.700-1200) when the Moors ruled this part of Spain. It was further extended following the re-assertion of Spanish rule in the area.

Los Banos de Dona Maria de Padilla (Baths of Lady Maria de Padilla) are named after the wife of King Peter of Castile (Peter the Cruel). She was born c.1334 and died in 1361. Though they are called baths they are in fact rainwater tanks, a reservoir of cool water very necessary in this hot, dry area.The vaulted roof with its Gothic arches suggest that it was constructed during the time of Dona Maria. At the far end, lit by natural light, is what appears to be an artificial grotto made of real or fabricated tufa.

Sunday, October 23, 2016

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"Where there is perfection there is no story to tell."Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b.1951)

Perfection is over-rated, especially in the visual arts. It can be seductive, rather like the "hook" in a pop song, but it is usually something that we tire of after being exposed to it a few times. Too often it is predictable in its completeness and that ultimately makes for an unsatisfying experience. Imperfection, on the other hand, can succeed by hinting at the perfection that might have been. The flaw in something that mars the perfection frequently becomes the focus of the piece, the thing that makes it interesting.

I was thinking about this as I processed this photograph of a line of doves on the pinnacles of an ornate building in Seville. How much more perfect and much less satisfying would it have been if all the doves had the same pose and faced the same way, and all of the pinnacles had a bird perched on it. It would simply be a picture of stacked lines, each repeating the same motif across the frame. Thankfully nature, in the form of the doves, gave the shot the imperfection that made it a more interesting image.

Friday, October 21, 2016

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The tower of Seville Cathedral, La Giralda, is with the Patio de los Naranjos (a cathedral quadrangle with orange trees), the principal remains of the Moorish mosque that was built in the late 1100s. From the early 700s to the early 1200s the southern and central Iberian peninsula were controlled by the Moors. Most was reconquered at the end of that period though Granada remained Moorish until 1492.

The tower of La Giralda was built in the 1190s as a minaret. The tower with its Moorish arches and latticework decoration that stretches from ground level to the bell stage is all of this period. It originally was topped by a recessed domed tower. In 1401 much of the mosque was demolished and the building of the cathedral commenced. Various different tower tops were tried but in 1568 the present classical arrangement was chosen. Classical balusters were also installed to embellish the Moorish openings lower down the tower. Interestingly when you climb La Giralda it is not up steps. Instead ramp after ramp takes you to the level of the bells where fine views over the city can be enjoyed.

Seville is a city with many fine, ornate street lights, particularly in the old town. For my photograph of La Giralda I stood near one of these and composed a shot that included the pair. The different temperature and technology of the lighting in tower and lights produces different colours on the stonework. The smaller photograph shows the cathedral tower framed by one of the old town's narrow streets, Calle Mateos Gago. As ever photographs at night always seem to work better if a little of the day's light remains in the sky. Incidentally, what looks like water on the cobbles of the street is in fact nothing more than the shine produced by the feet and wheels of countless people and vehicles.

Wednesday, October 19, 2016

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Anyone who has followed this blog for a while will know that one of the reasons I relish my regular visits to London is the opportunity to take photographs in the dark of the evening. In rural Lincolnshire where I live this is not an especially fruitful occupation, certainly compared with the opportunites presented by a city. Consequently, during our time in the city of Seville I made the most of the evenings.

Today's photograph is one of the better results and features a dogwalker, the illuminated tower of Seville cathedral and one of two prominent and ornate lights that illuminate the enclosed square of Plaza del Patio Banderas. In a couple of blog posts I've discussed the value of dog walkers to compositions, particularly in the open spaces of the sea shore. There, usually in distant, diminutive size, they offer a focal point of human (and canine) interest. In this composition I waited for the walker and made her and her dog one of the main points of interest. I returned to this square a couple of times in the hope of getting other good shots, but though some have qualities I like, none matched this photograph.

Monday, October 17, 2016

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A warm, sunny autumn morning suggested a walk in the woods at Woodhall Spa. This location and time of year makes for a pleasant meander down the lanes, tracks and roads, surrounded as they are by an area of lowland heath. Yellowing silver birches and oaks, fly agaric and shaggy inkcap toadstools, and spiders' webs dripping with dew are all likely subjects to find at this time of year. However, I had a feeling we were three or four weeks early for the full-blown sights of autumn. And so it proved.

But, in places the bracken was turning from green to brown with hints of red, orange and purple, and I came upon this patch illuminated by a shaft of sunlight that was penetrating the still thick leaf canopy above.

Saturday, October 15, 2016

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As we sat in the centre of Seville a guide passed us followed by a small flock of tourists. Gesticulating at the building behind us he explained in English with a Spanish accent, and without breaking step, that it contained only "documents, documents, documents", implying that it wasn't worth a glance. What he was airily dismissing as they pressed on to the next highlight of their tour was in fact one of the three buildings in Seville that have been granted UNESCO World Heritage status (along with the cathedral and the Real Alcazar). It was the Archivo General de Indias, a former merchant exchange dating back to the 1580s that has, since the eighteenth century, housed the archives of the Spanish Empire's discoveries and involvement in the Americas and the Philippines.

Admittedly, the building's exterior is somewhat severe with main elevations that differ in only minor ways. However, the interior has a fine courtyard, imposing main staircase and rooms and corridors with fine marble floors, coffered barrel vaulted ceilings, sumptuous bookcases and interesting paintings. Well worth seeing and a subject that I thought cried out for the widest of my wide angle lenses.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

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When we were in Seville recently we came upon TGB, also known as The Good Burger, and in Spanish, La Buena Hamburguesa. What drew my attention wasn't the idea that I could have a burger from a place that positioned itself above McDonald's, Burger King and all the other fast food burger outlets, but the bold, illuminated window sign. In the dark of the evening it caught my eye because nearby it took a little effort to decipher but from across the street it was very easily read.

I'm not a patron of the mainstream burger bars. In fact, I don't frequent the upmarket competitors either, though I have had, over the years, a couple of what in London are often called "gourmet burgers"! However, I do enjoy, now and then, a burger of my wife's making. It's what I consider to be a good burger because it comprises good quality beef and tasty, nutritious bread buns that my wife has made. The meat and the bread are the essence of any good burger, and if the former is well cooked and any garnish is sufficient to complement the essentials without overpowering them, then I am usually going to be happy with the offering. I see that this particular Spanish chain prides itself on quality ingredients and their preparation. And I can see how that would appeal to some Spanish people and some visitors. But not this one: for me being in Seville involves sampling Spanish food, particularly the tapas of that city, not a food that is now an international offering. Though we didn't have a burger I did get from the shop a photograph that pleased me. It was a snap shot (not a snapshot) taking quickly as a person passed by, their silhouette breaking up the words and catching outlining illumination from the shop sign lights.

Tuesday, October 11, 2016

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There are heroes and then there are national heroes. In saying that I am using the term in its traditional sense of people who demonstrate bravery by putting themselves in harms way in the service of their country. Foot soldiers, sailors and airmen who are at the sharp end of conflicts are often recognised for acts above and beyond the call of duty - they are heroes. National heroes are usually figures of higher rank, leaders rather than one of the "ranks", and sometimes, though not always expose themselves to the same dangers as their subordinates.

One of Britain's national heroes who most certainly put himself in harms way was Horatio Nelson. The fact is, everyone who served on a man of war in the Napoleonic period was subject to the same dangers from rifle shot, cannon ball, grapeshot, fire and the multitude of flying wooden splinters. Nelson, from his time as a junior sailor until his demise on HMS Victory at the Battle of Trafalgar suffered injuries of a lesser or greater extent. His elevation to national hero recognised his personal bravery as well as his tactical skill in defeating the navies of his government's enemies.

Consequently, Nelson is one of our country's most celebrated national heroes with many statues across the land, streets named after him, public houses too, and even a town. On a recent walk in Greenwich I came across a sculpture of the admiral to add to the many that already adorn our capital. It is in the square of the newly opened Greenwich Centre and is made of, or so it appears, Core-Ten steel. I must confess that initially I couldn't work out that it represented a person, but once I'd identified the face the rest fell into place.

Sunday, October 09, 2016

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In my visits to churches I frequently come across woodwork that dates from the medieval period. Most often this is roof timbers or parts of the seating in the chancel or nave, usually the misericords or the bench ends. Also reasonably common are medieval wooden screens, pulpits, chests, and other smaller pieces. Then there are the doors. One can understand the survival of wood that spends its life in the shelter of the church, but this isn't always the case with doors. Frequently they are open to the weather if not protected by a porch.

On a recent visit to Gedney church in Lincolnshire I photographed the elaborate medieval south door that is inside a porch. This is a remarkable survivor from the Decorated period of English Gothic i.e. the fourteenth century. The arched structure has solid surrounds and four mullions or buttresses that are decorated with pellets rather in the manner of ballflower. The top of the inserted wicket door has four shields and flowers. Above is a broad band that stretches across the door with a beautifully carved inscription, "Pax Christ sit huic domui et omnibus habitantibus in ea hic requies nostra". My nearly non-existent Latin, augmented by Google translates that as, approximately, "The peace of Christ to all who live here and all who are associated with this house". Some of the metalwork clearly is of the same age, particularly that on the inside.

It may be the contemporaneous porch and the protection it offers that is responsible for the well-preserved state of the door. It has suffered somewhat down the centuries but replaced pieces of wood are few, and even the metal supports added at the bottom of the mullions look very old. Interestingly I often find that woodwork such as this offers a more immediate sense of the past than the much more plentiful stone carving.

Friday, October 07, 2016

click photo to enlargeI hate multi-storey car-parks. I always have done and I don't see that viewpoint changing in the future. I know that they offer parking close to shops and the centres of towns and cities, and perhaps if my mobility were to be impaired my view might change. However, I don't think those circumstances would make me love them.

I've long felt that multi-storeys have the character of a building designed to be a slum: everything is pared down to a functional minimum with bare concrete being the main surface on view and, internally at least, no attempt made to embellish the basic internal structural skeleton. The aim of this, as with slums, is to extract the maximum income from the minimum infrastructure. To that end the ramps are always narrower than anyone would wish, the curves always tighter, the scuffs and scratches on the bends marking where drivers have caught their bumpers on the unyielding concrete, and the parking spaces have barely enough room to get out of your car. They have a general ambience akin to a slaughter house, and that's perhaps the reason that a modern "thriller" cliché is the confrontation of the hero and the "baddies" in the dimly lit floors of the multi-storey car-park.

Today's photograph shows a typically grim, grey prospect highlighted by the primary colours of warning dazzle and signs. Here, unusually in my limited experience of such places, the area reserved for cars is green and that for pedestrians is marked in red. Incidentally, I have seen a number of poor attempts to decorate the outside of a multi-storey car-park, including one that featured pointed arches in a pitiful attempt to "fit in" with the nearby Gothic cathedral. The only one I have seen and liked featured in this blog post.

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

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Many years ago we had a holiday based in Athens. Being interested in architecture I was keen to see the fount of the classical style and we spent many happy days clambering over the ancient ruins that litter that city. Two of the sites that particularly impressed me were the Erechtheum and the Temple of Athena Nike on the Acropolis. I was interested in the Erechtheum for the Caryatids, female figures that take the place of columns in that particular building, because I knew the most famous English copy of this feature. Several years earlier, in one of my first forays into London I had walked the length of Euston Road and passed what in architectural circles is known as St Pancras New Church (to distinguish it from the nearby older St Pancras). Here a raised room (tribune) has a row of Caryatids, less weathered versions of those to be seen in Athens.

New is a relative term in this instance. New St Pancras is a Greek Revival church built in 1819-22 by William and Henry William Inwood. Looking at the London caryatids recently I pondered the great imponderable once more: why did anyone think that the classical style of architecture - particularly that of ancient Greece - was appropriate for for a church of the Christian religion. One can almost understand the Romanesque style being used for churches: after all it post-dates the rise of Christianity. The Roman style overlaps with the beginning of the Christian era. But the ancient Greek civilization pre-dates Christianity by thousands of years, is one that worshipped multiple gods, and seems singularly inappropriate as a model for Christian architecture. But try telling that to Christopher Wren!

Monday, October 03, 2016

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The word hospital comes from the Latin for "stranger" and this gives a clue to the origins of the buildings we today call hospitals. In the medieval period many hospitals provided temporary accommodation for pilgrims, others operated a schools and many were dwellings for the poor of the locality - what came to be called almshouses in the UK. A similar, though older building - Browne's Hospital - can be seen in Stamford, Lincolnshire.

Today's photograph shows some almshouses in Sleaford Lincolnshire. They were built under the name Carre's Hospital by the Carre family on land that had previously had almshouses and subsequently the principal home of this well-to-do family. It was constructed by the architect, H. E. Kendall in the 1830s and 1840s, and comprises two adjoining ranges on two sides of a rectangle. The nine bay east range was built in 1830 and the seven bay south range (that includes a chapel with a large window and bellcote) in 1841-6. It originally provided homes for twelve "poor men" though in 1872 this was increased to eighteen. Each resident received the sum of 10 shillings per week, 1.5 tons of coal per year, and a blue cloak.

The building still provides homes for the elderly who continue to enjoy the shared garden. Today, however, it is somewhat spoiled by the busy traffic that uses the corner site near St Denys on which it is built. The almshouses are quite prominent in the town and their Gothic style echoes that of the nearby church. You can see both from the staircase windows of the NCCD building.

Saturday, October 01, 2016

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Castor is a village that has moved about a bit. Not in the physical sense, but rather in terms of the local authority of which it is a part. It was originally in the Soke (or Liberty) of Peterborough, a historic anomaly associated with the city and diocese. Then it became part of Northamptonshire for a while and finally it was subsumed in Cambridgeshire (along with Peterborough). Older citizens of the village can be forgiven for not remembering where they live.

That is not the only interesting feature of the village however. It also has, buried beneath the ground, the remains of a palatial group of Roman buildings. Its church has a dedication unique in England, to St Kyneburgha, the daughter of Penda, King of Mercia (d.664). She is alleged to have built a monastery at Castor. Then there is the church itself, or more specifically its tower. There are many churches of cathedral rank that can boast a tower of the Norman period that is ornately decorated. However, there can be no parish church with a tower so richly embellished. The chevrons, billet, lozenge and fish-scale diaper, corbel table, windows, bell openings and blank arcading all make for a richness that captivates the eye and makes one think anew about the supposedly crude work of the builders and masons of the 1100s.